


Seven Telegrams

by pulpriter



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:38:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpriter/pseuds/pulpriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serious spoilers for Season 3.<br/>What happens when Phryne leaves them alone for an instant</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Gentle readers, please review, and be brutal.  
> I must have written this half a dozen times. It's been angsty, fluffy, silly, trite, gloppy, sloppy and worst, choppy. I've reread it so often I'm not sure what it says. The MFMM writers must have a plan to get Jack and Phryne together, but I can't guess it.  
> I used "Lord and Lady Fisher", although I have seen some of you writers use Lord and Lady Richmond, which I believe is correct. But in the show, even Jack calls the Baron "Lord Fisher", and you know he'd take pains to get it right.

Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was weeding his garden and reflecting. It was a long time since he had spent an afternoon among the plants; his life had seemed very full of late, more than it had been for years. He smiled at himself. Of course, his time was filled by the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. From their first meeting in a lavatory/crime scene, of all places, she had insinuated herself into his work and eventually into his life. Now that she was away, the garden called to him.

For so many years, his garden had been a source of needed solace and contentment. He carefully pulled a tall weed, and instantly the flower bud that had been hidden below reached for the sun. Gardening was fulfilling that way: remove the parts that don’t belong, care for the ones that do, and they will flourish. It was strangely analogous to his chosen career, but law enforcement was nowhere near as clear-cut as gardening. Things were rarely as simple as they seemed. Pluck out a miscreant, and those left behind might flourish; but they might just as likely cry out for the loss of the one who had abused them. Jack had given up expecting to be acclaimed for his actions, and settled for upholding the law—although he sometimes administered it as he saw fit. Personal satisfaction had to be enough. And yet, of late, he had sometimes won the approval of Miss Fisher, and perhaps even some of her household staff. It had been a welcome feeling. 

Jack pulled an especially large weed, and his reward was to be overrun by a colony of ants. They made their way up his hands and arms almost as quickly as he saw them. He hurried to unbutton his sleeves and push them up so he could bat away the ants, which had already started to bite. It was a warm day, and once he got rid of the ants, Jack rolled his sleeves neatly and left them turned up. The sun on his skin was relaxing, and he returned to his weeding. 

Not long after that, Jack’s neighbor came to the back door. “Mr. Robinson. I haven’t seen you in the garden much these days.”  
Jack smiled politely and stood. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Higgins. No, I haven’t had a lot of time for gardening lately.”  
“No, I suppose not. I see your name in the paper sometimes. And sometimes, a picture.”  
Ah, there it was. He knew Mrs. Higgins too well to think she had just wanted to be neighborly. He didn’t choose to respond. She continued, “I expect it is a very warm day for working outside.” Another volley, to be sure he knew it was improper to be seen in public in only his shirtsleeves—and those rolled up.  
“Yes, it certainly is warm,” he said blandly. It was his own garden. She didn’t have to look at him, after all. 

Mrs. Higgins huffed, having not had the desired effect, and went back into her own house, doubtless to complain to her henpecked husband about the rude man next door.  
“No one would complain about my shirtsleeves if I were on the tennis court,” Jack thought, as his mind drifted to a game he had played recently on Prudence Stanley’s courts. Phryne Fisher, the epitome of elegance, could hardly have been more charmingly ungainly in her attempts to best him. It had been a delight to watch her. 

Other memories crowded in, then: his last few moments with Phryne before she got into an airplane and piloted it away. “Come after me,” she had challenged. He had come after her in that moment, insofar as to reach for her, pull her into his embrace, and kiss her properly at last. But was that what she meant? Her challenge seemed to mean more. How could he, an average bloke of average means, ever think to follow her across the globe? And yet, as ridiculous as it was, his imagination was ever occupied, trying to find a way to her again. 

Inspector Robinson worked for hours in his garden, enjoying the sun and the memories that kept flooding through his mind. It was dusk before he went inside to clean up and find something to eat. The memories continued to haunt him pleasantly until he fell into a peaceful sleep.


	2. Phryne

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher awoke late in the beautifully appointed bedroom at the estate of her parents. She was aware of a vague disappointment as she gazed at her surroundings. Her dream had been so vivid, those dark, dark blue eyes had seemed so real…It left her feeling so disorientated that she briefly looked around to see if he were there.  
Oh, Jack. Poor man! She was always making impossible demands of him, and he managed to bear up somehow. What had she been thinking when she teased him, “Come after me”? He was not independently wealthy, nor could he work at a career only when it pleased him. Would she really want him to follow her, no matter what the cost to him?  
Ridiculous. She had only been thinking about how much she would miss him. 

At dinner, Lady Fisher asked, “Phryne, are you going out this evening?”  
Phryne smiled a tired smile. “No, not this time. I think a quiet night will suit me.”  
Lady Fisher commented, “You always used to love to go out, no matter what.”  
The Baron blurted, “Mooning about, over that detective, I’ll wager.”  
Phryne glared at him. “No, I am not ‘mooning about,’ and you don’t need to be wagering about anything!” She frowned. “And that detective has a name.”  
“Oh, yes, indeed, the serious and straitlaced Jack Robinson! Tell me, Phryne, does that man even have a sense of humour?”  
Phryne was infuriated. “Of all the nerve! After all he’s done!”  
Lady Fisher had to get a word in. “Who is Jack Robinson?”  
Phryne stared at her mother. “Doesn’t Aunt Prudence tell you anything? Jack is the Senior Detective Inspector who helped me find Murdoch Foyle”—both parents cringed slightly at the name—“and saved my ward Jane from that madman, and saved me, too, in a way; he even attended Foyle’s execution, though I know he finds them distasteful; and he helped discover a killer involved with Aunt Prudence’s mine, and got clubbed on the head for his troubles; and just recently was in charge of another investigation at her estate…” There were so many times Jack had helped Phryne’s family, it was hard to enumerate all of them. “Did she really never think to mention him?”  
Lady Fisher wanted to be tactful. “I do remember her mentioning an inspector quite some time ago, but she didn’t seem to approve of his association with you...”  
“Not to mention that he spends hours in your parlour, drinking your whiskey, encouraging you in these investigations you insist on sticking your nose into. And he plays a fine love scene, too, if that farewell kiss was anything to go by,” the Baron jeered.  
Lady Fisher was more and more interested in this entire discussion, and so was looking intently at Phryne when Henry made his last remark. If she hadn’t been, she would have missed the fraction of a second when Phryne looked stricken, because just as quickly, Phryne recovered and went on the attack.  
“That is enough!” She stood abruptly. “I don’t think I’d like to continue this conversation any longer. A little respect would certainly be in order.” Phryne strode firmly out of the room. 

Once she got to her room, she managed to calm down. Her father was right about one thing, loath though she might be to admit it to him. She would be infinitely happier if she could be with Jack right now, following him around a crime scene, barging into his office, discussing a case over a drink in her parlour, stroking his lapels…or more…Sometimes, she imagined a husky voice, making a wry comment, calling her by her title, challenging her to a battle of wits. Phryne stroked the swallow pin on her scarf. 

The next morning, Phryne met her mother at breakfast. “I’m sorry, Phryne, that I upset you last evening,” Lady Fisher said. “I didn’t mean to.”  
“Oh, Mother. It’s—well, it’s not your fault, at least. I just can’t believe that everyone has been so cavalier—and it’s gotten him in hot water with his superiors more than once, I know it has.” It was a little difficult to follow Phryne’s jumble of syntax, but Lady Fisher understood what she needed to know.  
“Perhaps you should tell me about Detective Robinson, then.”  
Phryne’s eyes went soft. “Well. I met him on the first day I returned to Melbourne—I went to Lydia Andrews’ house, do you remember? And John Andrews had just died. So I sneaked in to take a look at the crime scene, and Jack caught me. He told me later he was amazed to hear me outline all the clues in just the way he saw them,” she said with pride. “We investigate together. Sometimes I see things he doesn’t, or put things together in a way he didn’t think of, and sometimes my connections make it easier to investigate—and of course, he shares information with me.”  
“Of course,” said Lady Fisher with wonder.  
Phryne continued on for some time, telling some of the stories in far more detail than was necessary. It didn’t matter to Lady Fisher. She saw how Phryne came alive, how her eyes lit, her smiles went deep. It was what she had always hoped to see in her daughter. So Prudence thought this man unsuitable? Well, of course she did. Look at what she thought of Margaret and Henry. Lady Fisher began to wonder if the calm and steady man Phryne was describing might be just the opposing force that Phryne had been needing in her life.


	3. Mac

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was investigating a crime at an expensive estate in town. He would have valued Miss Fisher’s easy entrée into high society to ease his way through this case, but he was managing on his own. A body had been found in a pool—reminiscent of the case at Prudence Stanley’s estate when he and Phryne had been trapped in Murdoch Foyle’s web of madness. Thankfully, the resemblance seemed to end there. There was no madman here, just an heir who would benefit greatly from the passing of the victim.  
The puzzle this time was in regards to the murder weapon. The deceased seemed to have simply fallen into the pool and drowned, but it didn’t make sense: he was a strong swimmer. There were no marks or bruises to indicate foul play. The only things out of place were some items used for cleaning the pool, so Jack had his constable gather them up and send them to Doctor MacMillan to see if she had any ideas to offer.  
When he returned to his office, there was a message from Dr. MacMillan already, asking him to join her at the morgue as soon as possible to discuss the contents of a jar he had sent to her. He took care of a few other details, then headed to the lab at the morgue.

Jack stepped into the morgue, but no one was there. The jar that Doctor MacMillan had described to him was sitting on the counter, with a note attached: 

DI Robinson  
Do Not Touch

Seeing that it was obviously the evidence that she wanted to tell him about, and that she had been careful to write a note to ensure that others would not add their fingerprints to the jar, Jack pulled on his gloves. He lifted the jar up and examined it in the light, but couldn’t see anything unusual. He put the jar back down on the counter, pulled the stopper from the jar and took a tentative sniff. 

When next Jack opened his eyes, he was on the floor, looking up at a disgusted Dr. MacMillan, on her knees next to him. “Can’t you read?” she said, irritated.  
Jack pushed himself up to a sitting position on the floor. “What?” he asked, confused.  
Mac shook her head. “I know. It will take a few moments for everything to fall into place. So I’ll take pity on you.” The doctor pointed to the jar on the counter. “Remember the jar I wanted you to see?”  
“Oh.. You left me a note..”  
“It was supposed to mean that YOU shouldn’t touch it. But I suppose it was a little ambiguous, so I’ve decided to forgive you for collapsing on top of me.”  
“What? Are you all right?” he asked the diminutive doctor.  
“I’m fine, although you are a little much for me, Inspector.” She grinned wickedly. “I can’t wait to tell Phryne about this.”  
Jack sighed and looked heavenward (just the reaction Mac was hoping for), and tried to stand. He almost made it, but Dr. MacMillan had to grab him around the waist to brace him again. “Easy there, Inspector,” she laughed. “The effects take a moment to wear off.”  
Jack leaned against an autopsy table. Apologetically, he said, “After all this, I think you’d better call me Jack.”  
“The two of us being so close now, you mean?” the doctor teased. “All right, and you must call me Mac.”  
“As you like,” Jack said. “Now what about that evidence? And what is it?”  
“It’s calcium hypochlorite, which is used to maintain the pool, mixed with acetone, used for cleaning. That combination makes a neat little chemical we like to call chloroform,” Mac said with a smug smile. It was a pleasure to take the credit for once, and not be beaten to the punch by Phryne. 

Suddenly, it occurred to Mac that she hadn’t played a joke on her old friend in ages—and it was about time.


	4. The First Telegram

Lady Fisher was looking for Phryne. She found her in the library, gazing blankly at some of the volumes on the shelves. “Ah! Phryne. There you are,” she said to her daughter.  
“Hello, Mother,” Phryne said, pleasantly but distractedly.  
“A telegram has arrived for you.” Phryne’s mother held it out to her.  
Phryne instantly came alive and moved quickly to take the telegram from her mother. “A telegram! For me.” Phryne smiled, catlike. Any number of people might wish to send her a telegram. Jack, for instance, might. 

Phryne tore it open, and was somewhat disappointed to see that the telegram was, in fact, from Mac. She read it, then rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”  
“What is it?” her mother asked.  
“A joke. From Mac.” Phryne shook her head. “Only she would go to the time and expense to send a telegram just to tease me.”  
“Oh. At least it’s not bad news,” said Lady Fisher, who was puzzled but could see she wouldn’t learn any more about the telegram. She left the room. 

Phryne read the telegram once more. Oh, there was a story, no doubt about it. It was probably meant to make her laugh, and it did, to an extent. But mostly it made her think about “DI Jack”: since when did Mac call him that? Phryne frowned, and went back to looking blankly at the bookshelves. 

She should really be thinking about going back to Melbourne. How would she do it? She didn’t want to spend all the time it took to go by sea, but that airplane ride with her father had been outside of enough, and it was rough on the plane, too. Phryne didn’t want to try flying that one again, especially all alone. But she’d have to choose a way, and soon. 

She felt a little happier, thinking about returning to Melbourne, and to all the people who were so important to her. And she’d find a way to get back at Mac, too. She looked once more at the telegram, and smiled: 

_Phryne stop Sorry but once you left DI Jack fell right into my arms stop Tough luck stop Mac_

“Better you than some other woman!” Phryne sighed. “Keep him safe, Mac.”


	5. Hugh

Senior Constable Hugh Collins was beside himself. 

He had just returned to work, after his brief honeymoon. He and Dot didn’t have any savings but they had managed to have a small trip away, and they had a flat to start their married life in. Hugh was trying to work hard and make the Inspector proud, after the Inspector had taken such a risk on him.  
Inspector Robinson had been very good to him, ever since Hugh had been assigned to City South. At first, Hugh had found him to be formidable: insisting on the finest police work, making Hugh go back and correct mistakes that were made, pushing him to be the best he could be. The Inspector was also a strict and formal man, and until recently, a very guarded one. 

But that all had changed once Miss Fisher arrived on the scene. Somehow she had drawn them both into her world. For Hugh, it was the discovery of Dottie that pulled him in. And of course, for the Inspector…well…   
Hugh liked Miss Fisher; she had tried to help him on many occasions. He didn’t like it when his fellow constables spoke unkindly about Miss Fisher, calling her “Robinson’s fancy piece” or worse. Nor did they seem to understand the Inspector or his ways, not that he seemed to care for a minute about that. His involvement with taking down corrupt policemen didn’t win him any friends, either, even if one of them had been his own father-in-law. Well, former father-in-law, by then, but the point was the same. Hugh thought that proved what a good man the Inspector was; but some of the others weren’t sure he could be trusted.

Hugh thought the world of DI Robinson. He wanted to make him glad he’d given Hugh a chance, and given him so much support. That’s why this whole situation had Hugh so upset. 

If only the suspect hadn’t had a gun…if only Hugh had been a little more aware of his surroundings, and not quite as distracted and dreamy as he had been…if only things had been just slightly different, they might both have been fine. But as it was, the suspect had fired at them, and the Inspector had pushed Hugh out of the way, and had been hit himself. 

As soon as Hugh had seen to getting the Inspector into the ambulance, he went to the station and called Dottie. “Dottie! The Inspector’s been shot. What should we do?”   
Dot was shocked. “Shot! Have you called the ambulance?”   
“Of course! He’s on the way to hospital. But—what should we do about Miss Fisher?”   
Dot knew exactly what he meant. She only took a moment to consider before she said, “I think we should call Dr. Mac. She’ll be able to tell us what to do.”   
Hugh smiled in relief. “Of course! Dottie, will you call her, while I go over to see how the Inspector is?”   
“Right away. I’ll meet you there.”


	6. The Doctor

Mac took Dottie’s call calmly. Policemen sometimes were injured by gunshots, even Senior Detective Inspectors—at least, the ones like Jack who didn’t leave all the legwork to their constables. The information she had from Dot through Hugh didn’t seem to suggest any urgency. Mac told Dot that she would go over to the hospital after her shift at the morgue ended. Once Jack’s condition had been assessed and treated, she’d see what the situation was, and let Phryne know. Chances were that they would clean up the entry wound and send Jack on his merry way.  
So it was that Dr. MacMillan arrived at the ward where Jack was resting comfortably. “Hello, how are you feeling?” she asked as she came closer to the bed.  
“Mac? Should I be worried?” he grinned.  
She caught on immediately. “You’re not ready to come see me professionally yet,” she smiled. “But this sort of action might make that happen sooner!”  
“This sort of action is something I try to avoid as much as possible,” Jack agreed.  
Mac poked around, looking at his chart. She didn’t like what she saw there. “You were in surgery?” she asked.  
Jack shrugged, as much as he could without hurting. “I was surprised, too,” he said. “I’m not sure why the surgeon thought it necessary.”  
“Hmm.” Warning bells went off in Mac’s mind, though she revealed nothing. There was no reason that bullet had to be removed. Now, there was a wound that would leave Jack susceptible to infection.  
She peered at him intently, then she said, “Dot and Hugh are waiting anxiously to know how you are faring. I’m sure Dot will telegraph Phryne.”  
“Oh.” Jack seemed a little unsure about the wisdom of that. “I appreciate that, but won’t it bother her unnecessarily?”  
“Oh, probably,” Mac said lightly. “I do that all the time. But don’t worry about that. All you need to do right now is recover.” She said reassuringly, “I’ll stop by again.”  
“Thank you, Mac,” Jack said, impeccable manners asserting themselves even from a hospital bed. “I appreciate your visit.” 

Mac left. She didn’t like what she had read about the surgery, and she didn’t think much of the doctor who had performed it: he was notoriously careless about aseptic procedures. An infection would slow down Jack’s recovery; there wasn’t much to do for it but hope the patient could fight it off. Fortunately, Jack was relatively young, and very fit. 

She went to meet Dot and Hugh, who were waiting anxiously. She gave them a truncated version of what she thought about the Inspector’s situation; just enough to reassure them and to try to wipe that terrible guilt from poor Hugh’s face. Mac decided that she would be the one to send the telegram to Phryne—oh, she wished she hadn’t sent that joke! Now she’d have to mend fences.


	7. The Second Telegram

Another telegram arrived at the Fisher home. Phryne saw it was from Mac, again, and hoped it would not be another joke. When she read the message, she said aloud, “Oh, no! Oh!” 

“What is it, dear?” Lady Fisher asked with alarm. 

“It’s Jack—Mac says he’s been injured.” Phryne sat down heavily and handed the telegram to her mother, who scanned it quickly: 

_Not a joke stop Jack injured, line of duty stop Gunshot wound stop Should recover stop Thought you should know stop Mac._

Phryne looked desperately at her mother, who handed the telegram back to Phryne. “‘Should recover’? What is that supposed to mean? Oh, if I could only telephone and find out what this is all about!” Phryne stood up and began to pace. “I’ll have to telegraph Mac for more details. And Aunt Prudence, maybe she can find out something. And Dot, she should be back by now. I’ll be back after I do all that.” She went to gather her things and head to the telegraph office.


	8. Aunt Prudence and the Third Telegram

Prudence Stanley was surprised to receive another telegram from Phryne: she had just received one last week to say that Phryne had arrived safely in England with her father. This one had a sense of urgency about it, though:

_Mac says Inspector Robinson injured stop Please find out details stop Phryne_

Injured? Prudence didn’t know anything about that, to be sure. How would one go about finding out this kind of information? She took some time to ponder. Perhaps a call to the police station would be the way to begin. She picked up the phone and asked the operator to place the call, but wasn’t immediately able to explain when asked which station she wanted. She sputtered a bit until it suddenly came to her. “City South! That’s it, I’m sure of it.”  
Once she was connected, she asked imperiously, “Is this Detective Inspector Robinson’s station?”  
The constable who answered stuttered and stumbled over his answer. “Er—yes—that is, the Inspector is usually here, but he isn’t just at present—but he will be, I’m sure, but I’m not sure—er—did you need him specifically?”  
Prudence frowned, then asked, “Am I speaking to Constable Collins? This is Prudence Stanley calling.”  
“Oh! Mrs. Stanley! Yes, this is, er, Senior Constable Collins. Can I help you?”  
“Yes, you can. I have had a telegram from Phryne asking about the Inspector. She asked me to find out what has happened.”  
“Oh. He was shot.”  
“What!” Prudence gasped.  
Hugh began to stammer again. “He’s in hospital—it’s my fault, really, I should have been more careful.”  
“Did you shoot him?” Prudence asked, perplexed.  
“What?! Of course not! No, a suspect shot at me, and the Inspector pushed me out of the way, and he was hit. It’s terrible.”  
“Is it? Will he recover?”  
“Oh, I think he’ll recover, it’s just terrible that it happened.”  
Prudence felt more confused than ever. “I see. Well, thank you, Constable.”  
Hugh was relieved this phone call was nearly over. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Stanley.”  
Prudence hung up feeling she had more questions than answers. She would need to find out more than this before she could answer Phryne.  
Perhaps she should go to visit the Inspector herself? That hardly seemed proper. He wasn’t a relative; she barely knew the man, when you came right down to it. But there didn’t seem to be another way. She steeled herself: she would do it, for Phryne. 

Prudence was trying to find her way through the halls of the hospital when she ran into Elizabeth MacMillan. “Mrs. Stanley!” the doctor said in surprise.  
“Oh! Dr. MacMillan! I’m so glad to see you.” Mac raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “I am here to see what I can find out about Inspector Robinson. Do you have any idea where I would find him?”  
If Mac was amazed by this revelation, she kept it to herself. “As it happens, Mrs. Stanley, I was just going to see him myself. I’ll show you the way.”  
As they walked, Prudence described her confusing conversation with Constable Collins, and explained about the telegram from Phryne, and suddenly they were at the bedside of Inspector Robinson, who was drowsing.  
“Well, Jack, how are you? I’ve brought a visitor,” Mac said brightly.  
Jack roused and looked blearily at Mac, and at Aunt Prudence. “Mrs. Stanley!” he said in surprise.  
“Hello, Inspector. I was sorry to learn that you were hurt.”  
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to visit,” Jack said courteously.  
“Nonsense. Phryne was beside herself to hear that you were injured, and asked me to see how you are faring.”  
“Oh—Mac, you told her?”  
Mac nodded.  
“Were you trying to keep it from her?” Prudence asked the Inspector, making it clear she did not approve.  
“No, no, I just thought she had enough to manage, keeping her father out of trouble—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not sure I’m thinking entirely clearly.”  
“Well, you’re quite right about my brother-in-law, Inspector,” Prudence said with irritation.  
As they were talking, Mac had been looking closely at the Inspector, and she asked him pointblank, “You have a fever, don’t you?”  
“Er..”  
“Never mind. I can see that you do. You need to follow your doctor’s directions and get plenty of rest.” Mac spoke with certainty. “Mrs. Stanley, we should leave.”  
Prudence was not at all used to being told what to do in such a firm manner, but she acquiesced. “Goodbye, Inspector,” Prudence said. “I hope you will feel better soon.”  
Jack was fading fast, but he managed the familiar half-smile. “Thank you. I hope to.”  
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Mac said. “Get some rest.” She was fairly certain he was asleep as soon as they left the room. 

As they went down the hall to leave, Mac confided in Mrs. Stanley. “That wound is infected. I’m sure of it. It’s just what I was afraid of. But you’d probably better not mention that to Phryne.”  
“I don’t like to tell half-truths, Doctor,” Prudence said firmly.  
Mac bit her lip. “Mrs. Stanley. Phryne would have seen the awful things infection can do, when she was a nurse in wartime. There’s no need to make her worry.”  
Prudence said stiffly, “I’m sure I will be careful not to trouble her.” Then she softened and said, “He will be all right, though, won’t he?”  
“I think so. He should be.”  
Prudence would have liked to hear a more definite pronouncement. She wanted to be truthful about the situation, so when she arrived home, she sent Phryne an answering telegram.


	9. The Fourth Telegram

Once again, Phryne received a telegram at the home of her parents. She was anxious to learn more about Jack’s condition and tore into the telegram, noting that it was from Aunt Prudence. 

_Inspector shot by mistake stop Constable very upset stop Doctor MacMillan worried stop I went to hospital myself stop Inspector should be all right stop Aunt Prudence_

What in the world? This was worse than the first. Constable very upset? Mac was worried? Phryne stamped her foot in frustration. Her mother came into the room and asked what was wrong.  
“It’s another telegram, this time from Aunt P,” Phryne told her mother.  
“Oh, how is Prudence?” her mother smiled.  
“It’s about Jack! I asked her to find out about Jack. But this sounds worse than ever!” Phryne was pacing. “Why won’t anyone give me a straight answer? What are they keeping from me?” She shot her mother a hopeful look. “Maybe Dot will wire me. She’s sensible. Yes, I’ll wait to hear from her.”


	10. Dot and the Fifth Telegram

Dot was waiting happily for her new husband to arrive home. It was well that she was familiar with Hugh’s work long before they were married, or this business with Inspector Robinson would have terrified her. Hugh came to the door just at that moment, and they enjoyed a happy “hello” kiss in the time-honored tradition of all newlyweds.  
“How was your day?” Dottie asked.  
“It was all right. Just another busy day. I’m not involved with any difficult cases, since the Inspector isn’t there.”  
“That’s all right,” Dottie said. Hugh was wonderful at his work, but she preferred it when he had the Inspector’s support if they were going to investigate anything really dangerous.  
“I had a call from Mrs. Stanley,” Hugh laughed. “Can you imagine? She was asking about the Inspector!”  
“Really?” Dottie giggled. “I never thought she approved of him.”  
“Dottie!” Hugh said reprovingly, but then smiled, himself. “Well, I admit, I didn’t think she did, either. But she wanted to know about the shooting.”  
“I wonder how she knew?” Dottie considered. “Maybe Miss Phryne sent her a telegram. Oh, Hugh, I forgot to tell you, she sent me one, all the way from England!” Dot went to the side table to get it.  
Hugh was confused. “But Dottie, you haven’t opened it.”  
Dottie smiled at him. “I thought we could open it together. It isn’t every day we get a telegram.”  
They sat down happily side by side and Dot opened the telegram. 

_Mac says Jack injured stop Please find out all you can stop Answer soon stop Phryne_

“Oh, she sounds worried,” Dot said sadly.  
“Well, of course she does. You’d be worried if it were me, wouldn’t you?”  
“You know I would be! But you’re my husband…” She stopped before she said more.  
Hugh understood, and was more eloquent than usual. “You know Miss Fisher is—different. And she and the Inspector, they don’t do things the way you and I do, Dottie, but, well, I think they care about each other.”  
Dottie nodded. “Of course, I know that. I just don’t understand it, exactly, why it’s so complicated for them.”  
Hugh shrugged, not having any answer. “Are you going to answer the telegram?” he asked.  
“Oh! Of course! But what should I say?”  
Both of them thought about it. A telegram was a rather momentous occasion, so they wanted to get it right.  
“You could say, Inspector in hospital-doing well-“  
“Is he, then?”  
“Er—I think so.”  
“We should find out for sure,” Dottie said firmly.  
“Shall we go to the hospital to see him?” Hugh asked.  
“No, silly! Visiting hours are over. Maybe we should just call Doctor Mac again.”  
Hugh gave Dottie a little squeeze. “Good thinking! Go right to the expert.”  
It was early enough in the evening that Dot felt it would be all right to call Dr. MacMillan, so she did.  
“Hello, Doctor, it’s Dot—” she still stumbled over it—“Dot Collins. I had a telegram from Miss Phryne.”  
“Did you?” came the businesslike voice over the phone. “So did I. She’s sparing no expense, as usual.”  
“Oh—what was yours about? Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” Dot said, embarrassed.  
Mac laughed. “And what do you think it was about? The man who’s sitting in hospital right now, blissfully unaware of all of this!”  
Dot laughed a small laugh, but she didn’t always understand Dr. Mac’s sense of humor. “That’s actually why I was calling. Can you tell me how the Inspector is getting along? Or should we go to see him tomorrow?”  
In her brusque way, Mac said, “I wouldn’t bother going over, unless you really want to. Poor man; picked up an infection, so he’s fairly miserable right now with fever. That stupid doctor who did the surgery—I’d like to give him a piece of my mind.”  
“An infection? Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Dot. She remembered an aunt from her long-ago past who had died from infection.  
“Of course it is. Surgeons especially should be more careful about these things, but some of them don’t pay much attention.” Mac huffed a sigh. “It’s as well that I work in the morgue now. Don’t have to deal with them anymore. Just their mistakes.”  
“I see,” said Dot, although she really didn’t. “Thank you for the information, Doctor.”  
“Certainly. And don’t worry, it’ll all work out.” She hung up.  
Dot had gotten a lot of information from Dr. Mac. She would need to craft her answer carefully.


	11. The Sixth Telegram

Lady Fisher was disturbed by the delivery of yet another telegram. “Goodness, Phryne!” she said. “So many telegrams!”  
“Who’s this one from? Dot! Good.” Phryne sat down to read, hopeful of getting some real information. 

_Couldn’t visit Inspector Robinson stop He has infection stop Dr. Mac angry with surgeon for carelessness stop Says it will all work out stop Dot_

Phryne read this one aloud to her mother. “This is the limit! Telling me terrible things, then saying it will be fine! What on earth do they all mean?”


	12. The Decision

Phryne had tried to be patient, but sitting around waiting for a telegram that would properly explain what was happening was not her style. She came to a decision, and announced it to her mother.  
“Mother, I have to return to Melbourne. Jack’s been hurt and I have to get back.”  
“Oh, Phryne.” Her mother tried to talk her out of it. Melbourne was on the other side of the world; it wasn’t a trip to be taken lightly.  
After listening to her mother’s objections for some time, Phryne tried to explain in a way her mother could not mistake. “Mother. He waltzed me.”  
Lady Fisher’s eyes went wide. “What? Where?”  
“At the Grand.”  
Lady Fisher’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh!”  
“I tried to tell him. I tried to talk him out of it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”  
Her mother asked with alarm, “Did you lose all reason?”  
Phryne smiled a faraway smile. “No. I found it.”  
“Oh, my! Then we must find a way to get you back!” 

Lord Fisher was not impressed with this turn of events. The Baron grumbled, “I don’t see why she has to go running back there. They have doctors, and hospitals. Why does she think she needs to go?”  
“Henry. He waltzed her,” his baroness said firmly.  
“What! He did, did he?” the Baron fumed.  
“He did, and nothing will stop her now.”  
“I suppose there’s nothing for it,” Lord Fisher said wearily. “I knew he was trouble. Oh, all right, I won’t stand in her way.”  
“As if you could,” his wife said sagely.


	13. The Seventh Telegram

Group Captain Lyle Compton of the RAAF was surprised to get a telegram from Phryne Fisher, and even more surprised to see what she was asking.

_Must get to Melbourne immediately stop Need a pilot here in England stop Please make all connections stop Pay any price stop Phryne_

Compton got to work trying to arrange a series of connections, although it was not really within his purview with the RAAF. He did it for old times’ sake. He and Phryne had not parted company on the best of terms, and he was somewhat surprised that she called on him. He made up a series of relays that would move Phryne across the continents as need be, within a relatively short period of time. It was quite a masterwork, bringing her to land ultimately at his airfield.  
Compton met her when she landed at last in Melbourne. She looked drawn, more so than he would have expected; she had always loved flying. “Welcome back. What’s the big emergency?”  
Phryne didn’t flirt or even smile. “Jack’s been shot.”  
Compton didn’t speak for a moment. “So. Jack again.”  
Phryne was distracted. “Please. Is there a cab here for me?”  
“Yes, your pet cabbies have been waiting half the day,” Compton said.  
“Thank God. Show me.”  
As soon as she saw the cab, she rushed toward it. Compton was forgotten. Not for the first time, Compton thought to himself that he’d like to know what Robinson had going for him. Compton couldn’t see it.


	14. The Cabbies

Phryne raced out to find Bert and Cec. “Welcome back, Miss!” they both beamed.   
She stared at them for a moment. “Thank you,” she said vaguely. “Can you take me to the hospital immediately?”   
They looked at each other in consternation. “The hospital? Aren’t you well?” Cec asked kindly.   
“What? Jack was shot! Didn’t you know?” Phryne blurted.   
Bert and Cec exchanged glances again. Bert said, “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital if you’re wanting to see the Inspector.”   
Phryne burst out, “I think I may lose my mind if someone doesn’t tell me what is going on, this instant!”


	15. The Denouement

The door to City South slammed open and a very beautiful and very angry woman stormed in. Hugh looked up just fast enough to see her stomping past him. “Er—” was all he could get out before she made her way down the hall to the Inspector’s office. 

At his desk, Jack sat reading a report when he heard a commotion outside. He was perplexed by the sound of a woman’s high heeled shoes coming down the hallway to his office. It sounded just like---  
His office door burst open. “Jack!” she said in amazement.  
“Phryne?” He nearly dropped the paper he had been reading.  
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.  
“What? What are you doing here?” he asked.  
“I had to come! All those telegrams!”  
Jack was nonplussed. “Telegrams?”  
Her shoulders slumped. “Everyone told me you had been shot!”  
“I was.”  
“And you were in hospital.”  
“I was.”  
“And that you had an infection!”  
“I did.”  
“Well—well—and here you are, working as if nothing ever happened!” Phryne said indignantly.  
Jack was grinning. “I can’t quite work out whether you’re happy about that or not.”  
Phryne simply stood there, staring. It was a rare moment.  
  
Jack stood up and slowly walked around his desk. Now she could see the sling supporting his left wrist, and his jacket sleeve hanging empty. He looked a little thinner, too. He stopped only a step away from her.  
Phryne recovered her tongue. “I thought from the telegrams that you were at death’s doorstep.”  
“And you came back.” He said it with all the weight of what it meant to both of them.  
“And I came back,” Phryne admitted, knowing what she was telling him.  
Jack looked momentarily regretful. “I didn’t manage to figure out how to come after you.”  
Phryne’s lips curled in a teasing smile, and she took a step closer to him. “No. You did this instead,” reaching out to touch the sling on his arm, “but, I suppose I don’t mind going out of turn occasionally.”  
“Don’t you?” This was beginning to feel very familiar.  
“No, I don’t.”  
“And…would you mind closing the door behind you?” Jack asked, one eyebrow cocked.  
“This door here?”  
“That one.”  
Bright red lips turned upward again. “I wouldn’t mind doing that, either.” She did so, and when she turned back she noticed Jack was loosening the sling from around his wrist. “What are you doing there? You should leave that on.”  
“I can’t take you in my arms if one of them is trapped between us.”  
“Oh. All right. Be careful, then.”  
“I’ll do my best, Miss Fisher.”  
“Oh, dear! I thought I was Phryne now. Is Miss Fisher back?”  
Jack laughed. “I suspect Miss Fisher will make an appearance from time to time. The important thing is, you’re both back.”  
“We are both wishing you’d do something about that.” 

Outside the office, Hugh had tried not to eavesdrop. It wasn’t easy. It was better once the door was closed. But he’d really have to tell the Inspector that the silhouettes against the frosted glass left nothing to the imagination.


End file.
